with shards of dreams in our hands
by Slytherin Cat
Summary: Elena's life ends with the screech of tires and the icy blow of the water as her parents' car leave the road. Later, her story starts all over again with blood on her lips, a pair of eyes bluer than the sky and the snap of her neck. AU - for Uni.


_Word count:_ 7608

**with shards of dreams in our hands**

_"With shards of dreams in our hands_

_We walk until our feet are raw_

_And with our eyes turned to the sky_

_We wait for salvation"_

The tires screech, someone screams out a name and then all Elena feels is the heavy blow of the icy water as the car crashes down.

The world fades to grey.

**.x.**

The first thing she sees as she opens her eyes is grey clouds rolling in the sky far above her head.

The first thing she feels is the rain as it falls upon her skin.

She's lying on a ground that's turning muddy far too quickly for her taste, but she can't seem to muster the energy to get up and find some cover.

The rain washes over her and blurs her eyesight until she can no longer blink it away.

She feels almost warm in between the water slipping down her skin and the earth softening beneath her back.

She closes her eyes and lets the grey swallow her, swallow the pain eating at her chest and the grief gnawing on her bones until nothing remains.

**.x.**

She's almost surprised to open her eyes the next morning, waking up at the sound of her alarm clock in her bedroom.

She could swear she can still feel mud on her back and water on her skin, but she's perfectly dry and her room's clean.

The house is silent but for the blaring sound of her alarm. It echoes in her head long after she cuts it off, and that, more than anything warns her that something is off with her world.

She forgets about it quickly though, because when she gets to the kitchen her brother is arguing with their father about his studies and her mother sets a plate of pancakes in front of her with a warm greeting.

The love is thick in the room, and she allows it to warm her as she sits with her family for a moment before she leaves to get to her classes.

She's almost late so she runs when she gets to the High School. She slams violently into some stranger, and the only thing she manages to see before the grey pulls her under again is a pair of blue eyes.

**.x.**

The cemetery is a good place to write. It's quiet, peaceful and the scenery is beautiful. If Elena were a painter, she would come here all the time, but she just wants to write so it never really occurred to her.

Not until now, at least. For some reason, she never thought that Mystic Falls' cemetery could be a good place to find inspiration, and yet she already tried almost all the quiet spots in town and a few not-so-quiet ones.

It feels meaningful to be here with her journal in her hands, in a way writing in her room never managed to be, even if she doesn't know why.

Just sitting there, her back against the hard bark of an ancient tree she feels like she belongs, like she's part of something bigger than her own life and yet she's also reminded almost cruelly of her own mortality.

The dead are lying underneath her feet, and yet life grows everywhere around her. It's a beautiful paradox, and it's also the perfect inspiration.

She can't understand why no one else thought of it, or why it took her so long to think of it herself, but she's so glad she did. Something there just helps her put her thought into words, and for the first time in a while, she's almost proud of what she's writing, even if she mostly just tells of her day with her friends and her family.

Speaking of, she should be getting home. The sun doesn't shine as brightly as before, and while she's always a phone call away, she told her mother she's help her cook for dinner, so she probably has to start to leave now if she doesn't want to have to rush later.

Ignoring the tight feeling in her chest, she gathers everything she took out of her bag and prepares to head home.

It's not until she's almost left the place that she notices the dark silhouette by the tree line. It seems familiar enough, like she's already seen the man somewhere, even if she doesn't know him.

It nags at the back of her mind until she gets home – strangely, she can't remember how she got to the cemetery in the first place. Strange, isn't it? She must have spaced out on the way there, it happens to her often enough from the High School to their home.

Later that night, the house resonates with laughter as they eat a delicious dinner she can't remember cooking.

She falls asleep thinking that something is going on with her.

**.x.**

"Watch where you're going!"

"God, I'm sorry, I should have paid more attention to where I was going. I'm so sorry. You're not hurt, are you?"

She's back in front of her High School where she collided with that stranger, and she could have sworn that it had happened already. Maybe this was some sort of déjà vu, she thinks as she gathers up her car keys and her handbag from where it had fallen.

When she gets up, he hands her a journal – hers, she realizes – with a self-satisfied smirk that already irks her. Surprise flashes in his eyes for a moment when he sees her face, and for a moment his eyes search hers with some kind of soul deep desperation.

She doesn't know if he found what he was looking for, because he carefully blanks his face before she can even think to utter a word.

"Don't worry about me. You can knock me down whenever you want, _Elena_," and god, the way he says her name should be illegal, "I swear I won't mind it." His words come with a flirting wink, and she can feel herself blush.

Somewhere, a bell rings and she realizes belatedly that she's late for her classes – only didn't she take them already?

She swears and resumes her running anyway, throwing an apology over her shoulder again just in case. Her mother always said – says – that it never hurt to be polite.

She stops by the door, hesitating.

"Hey," she yells at the retreating figure of the rather handsome man she still doesn't know the name of, "what's your name?"

"Damon," he yells back, and she's not too far away yet not to see that he's still smirking.

She pushes the door and her last thought as her world fades to grey again is that she could have sworn she heard him say 'what a shame she's not real' before she left.

What strange words to say…

**.x.**

She doesn't really know how many more glimpses it takes her to realize she sees him pretty much everywhere she goes, and that she knows nothing about this man but that his name is Damon.

What she knows though, is that something is wrong with her world, so wrong because she keeps forgetting small stuff and sometimes all she can remember is the grey – not even her name, or Jeremy or her parents, just the grey, peace and quiet and underneath it all, lying like a snake waiting to strike, some kind of primal fear.

Something is wrong with her. What she sees isn't real, it can't be real, because she moves out of time and she doesn't obey space. Nothing about this is possible, and always the gray lurks at the corner of her mind, at the far end of her eyesight like an enemy lying in wait.

There are only a few things she's sure of – she's Elena Gilbert, she's real and something is definitely wrong with her.

Also, Damon cannot be real, and hopefully this is all a dream she'll wake up from soon enough.

**.x.**

This time, they meet in an overcrowded nightclub. It's tacky, so hot it feels like the air is pressing down on her and the music pulses with a beat that echoes deep in her chest. The place is wild – Elena's pretty sure she doesn't want to know what some couples are doing a few feet away from the dance floor – and it's nothing like any place she's ever been to.

She loves it already. She could get lost in here, hide in the crowd and dance away her worries until the morning comes.

It makes sense, since she's not actually awake.

And that's why instead of going to mingle on the dance floor she lets her feet take her to the bar.

"Rough day?"

The barman slides her a drink, and she takes a sip – it's perfect, but then again, this is her mind – before turning to answer the man who addressed her.

She won't lie to herself: the first thing that comes to her mind is how handsome he is. Then she sees the smirk and of course, who else would it be?

"Damon," she states as she leans against the counter.

"Guilty as charged," he quips smugly before knocking back the last of his drink, quickly ordering another one.

He can act as unconcerned as he wants, she still saw the surprise flashing through his eyes for a moment. She knows he didn't expect to see her there, and isn't that just weird? After all, she doesn't even know where 'there' is, or how she got there.

Something is going on. She just wishes she could remember what it is.

"What are you doing in my head?" She asks, but there is another question burning at the tip of tongue, something she has to know but still can't quite formulate.

It'll come though, somehow. It has to.

He arches an eyebrow, and manages to look smug doing so, which is something she had never thought possible. "What are you doing in _my_ head?" He retorts, his tone calm but with a storm brewing in his eyes.

Oh, this one has a temper.

Though luck, so does she.

"Excuse me, but I know I am here, wherever here is, and I can think. _Cogito ergo sum_, and I say this is my mind. So tell me why you keep butting in!"

He moved so fast she would have missed it had she not been looking him straight in the eyes. He slammed her against the counter, his hand wrapping itself around her neck and chocking her.

"Really Stefan? Descartes? Is that your new pathetic little attempt at making me see the errors of my ways? Well, let me tell you, it's not going to work. I won't change. I don't want to, and especially not for you."

Had she needed any more proof that something was wrong with her world, the fact that no one reacted to this show of violence would have been a pretty big clue.

As it was though, she's too busy clawing at his arm to notice much of the outside world. Her throat hurt and her lungs are already burning from the lack of oxygen. The hold on her neck tightens and if it gets any stronger she's sure she will feel her bones snap. Her sight is already darkening, and she can't believe she's going to be murdered in a tacky nightclub by a man she's pretty sure isn't real.

She can feel herself slipping away – where to she doesn't know, but at least there it won't hurt as much to breathe…

And just like that, she's free to take in deep and painful breaths. She opens her eyes – when had she closed them? – to see that Damon had taken a step back.

"What the hell?" She managed to croak out. "Do you try to kill every girl you meet or am I just the lucky one? Because let me tell you, some people might find this a turn on, but I certainly don't enjoy being nearly strangled by some crazy part of my screwed up subconscious."

And just like that, he's suddenly in her face again, his eyes the perfect picture of anger once more.

"Why didn't you defend yourself, Stefan? That was nothing, so why didn't you?"

"Oh, I don't know? Maybe because I'm not Stefan? I don't know, but that sure does sound like a good excuse, don't you think?" Great, now he had made her angry as well.

"For fuck's sake, Stefan, stop pretending! I know it's you, just get out of my head – you know I'll make you regret it when I wake up, so why do you even bother?"

"For the last time, I. Am. Not. This. Stefan. I don't even know who that is, or what the hell he would he would be doing in your head – which it's not, by the way, because we're definitely in mine – or even how that would be possible because as far as I know, schizophrenic are the only ones with other people in their heads, and I know I'm not mad."

"Good work, but you're not fooling anyone. This place's a nice touch but really, the girl? Is she supposed to be my type just because she looks like Katherine? You do know that it's kind of perverted to picture yourself as the girl I slept-"

She slaps him before she even thinks of it. She would like to say that it's what stops the argument, but it actually is a mix of her bewilderment as to how much her hand hurts and his laughter.

"God, you really do hit like a girl. You know, I would have believed you, but choosing Katherine, really? Isn't that some kind of low blow you're supposed to be incapable of, what with being all noble and all? You've impressed me brother, really. Looks like you've finally grown up a little."

"That would be because I am a girl, you… You utter moron! How many time do I have to say it, I'm not your – oh my God, is this what this is? Some kind of twisted siblings' fight? Are you supposed to be Jeremy? Is my own subconscious trying to send me a message, to show me what will happen between us? Because let me tell you, this is not appreciated!"

She's out of breath by now, her hands throbs and her throat is still reminding her every few seconds or so that it was brutally aggressed not long ago, but she feels so alive she only becomes aware of the grin splitting her cheeks when the barman clears his throat and hands them new drinks to replace those she hadn't even seen disappear.

She can tell she's surprised him, or at least shocked into silence, because he settles back against the counter sipping at his drink just as she viciously downs her tequila shot, licking the salt away from her hand almost angrily.

She doesn't know who talks first, or if they both begins at the same time, but suddenly they're talking again, though thankfully calmer than before. It seems that Damon's fight left him somewhere between his third and fourth glass – at least the ones she saw – or that the neckline she keeps flashing every time she knocks back her shots finally convinced him of her gender.

"So, Stefan is your brother?" "This Jeremy, he's you brother?"

She snorts, and he puts down his drink.

"Yeah, Jere's my little brother. Annoying as hell – God, he drives me so mad sometimes, and our parents just let him get away with the craziest stuff – but he's, you know, still my brother."

Apparently, wherever she is, she still can be somewhat affected by alcohol – it's good to know.

"I can relate. I got a little brother too-"

"Yeah, I might have gotten that between the shouting and the strangling. Let me tell you, you have issues, very deep issues."

"And you don't maybe? I'm not the one thinking she's real!"

"I am real, you're the one who's – never mind that, at least I'm not the one who seems to be thinking that killing my brother will solve all my problems!"

"Well, maybe I have my reasons!"

"Don't we all," she scoffs, because after all, yeah, there isn't a day where she hasn't felt like killing Jeremy. That doesn't mean she would ever do it though.

Damon hums in agreement, but he focuses his gaze on his drink instead of speaking again.

Elena sighs. She wants to say something, to tell him… What exactly, she doesn't know, but anything is better than the heavy silence that has settled in between them.

"So, what's the story – I guess it's a bit more than simple sibling rivalry, what with you actually trying to strangle the life out of me?"

For a few moments, she thinks he's not going to answer her. What was she expecting anyway, playing therapist with some weird part of her mind – surely there was something to be learnt from this, but she wasn't exactly in the right mind to analyze this right now.

"Just the basics then? I guess it can't hurt – you're obviously not Stefan or anyone I know, and it's not like you wouldn't know those already if you were…"

"No, really… What gave me away?" She asks, half genuine curiosity, half lingering annoyance.

"The tequila," he quips, "I know my brother, and he doesn't drink his tequila this way. At least, not without some proper encouragement."

"Well, better late than never, I guess. It was high time you realized it though. You're really paranoid you know. It's not like your brother could have actually been in your dreams, or wherever you think you are, unless you actually dreamed him there, in which case trying to kill him is even weirder…"

"He can actually. Well, he probably could, if he tried to, but he knows better," Damon interrupts, smirking. His eyes are shining with some kind of emotion she can't quite decipher. She probably could guess at it, but honestly, she doesn't think she wants to.

"So, apart from not wandering into your dreams, has your brother done anything else that could explain this?"

"I told you: it's basic. Boy meet girl, boy has a brother, and both fall for the girl. Then the girl chooses one of them and the brother screws them up. You look just like her by the way," he adds, almost as an afterthought.

"Really?"

"Yeah, it's really uncanny."

The name pops up in her mind. "She's called Katherine, right? You mentioned her before, when we were… arguing."

"Yes, Katherine. It's funny, because you kind of also have her fire. She was… extraordinary."

"You loved her."

His silence is answer enough, and suddenly she's feeling sympathy for the man who has almost killed her. There's definitely something wrong with her, but she can't quite bring herself to care.

"What happened?" She questions with a soft tone, and he must feel the difference from her previous one, because he scoffs at her.

"Don't pity me, I don't need it."

"No one ever does, but that doesn't mean I know how to stop it. It's a basic human feeling, you can't control it."

"Good thing I'm not human then."

She catches a glimpse of something darker than mere anger and dangerous in his eyes before the world fades to grey around her.

This time, she tries to fight it for what feels like an eternity but probably was only a fraction of second.

She fails, and she's alone again.

**.x.**

The cemetery is empty as always, and the wind howls through the tall trees.

Elena wanders from one tomb to another, idly wondering what name she'll see next.

Will it be hers? A part of her mind can't help but wonder. Would she find her name, _Elena Gilbert_, written in a delicate cursive that just isn't her, two dates and some kind of supposedly meaningful message?

She never does, and she doesn't know whether to feel relieved or not.

The wind gets stronger, and she can hear the trees beginning to creak under its force.

It almost sounds like a voice calling her name, begging her to wake up.

She can't, not because she's not asleep but because she doesn't know how to. She's stuck in here, wandering aimlessly through her own mind, locked in between her own memories and places she dreams up.

But she wants to wake up. It's an urge running through her veins, something she can't fight and doesn't want to.

She can't, and so she screams and rages until she's unable to do it anymore, until her voice drowns out the wind, and only then does she let the grey take her away.

Hopefully, she'll find herself in a better place than this one.

It can't get much worse after all.

**.x.**

Seconds, minutes, hours, days or weeks pass. She can't tell, because sometimes she spends what feel like days in a single place where the sun never sets and the moment after she's reliving weeks that feel like mere minutes.

It's so easy to get lost in what once was her life that she forgets sometimes, forget that this isn't real and that something must have happened for her to be locked in these endless dreams, something unnatural and terrible.

It's just there, hidden at the back of her mind, and she often comes from the grey haze that swallow her world with a scream on the tip of her tongue that she never lets out.

She's slipping away, the quiet in her mind slowly eating piece after piece of who she is.

It's not until she sees him again that the only moments when she feels like Elena are when she's with Damon.

**.x.**

"I think you'll love their salad."

For the first time in a while, she doesn't recognize where she is.

She recognizes the voice though, and that's the only thing that makes her ignore all the stranger-danger lessons her parents ingrained in her head since she was old enough to understand them.

"I don't eat – I don't need to. And where the hell are we?" And why were they here? She should probably be angrier than she is, but really, she feels rather relieved by the change of scenery. It makes her feel alive, and even if it reminds her that something very wrong is happening to her, it also gives her hope than she can do something about it.

"In a restaurant. It's in Paris," Damon answers with a barely hidden smirk as he fingers a glass of blood red wine. "I like it."

"Of course. Of course it's in Paris, never mind that I've never been to Paris or that none of this is real – you don't even look French!"

"That would be because I'm not French. Though I wasn't aware French people had to look a certain way to be French…"

He looks amused, but she remembers how little time it took him to try to squeeze the life out of her last time they met. This man is dangerous – the kind of person her parents warned her about.

She shouldn't talk to him. On the other hand though, he is the only company she has, and it's not like she can make him leave when she doesn't know how they got there and what here is apart from a part of her mind.

"You don't sound French then – you don't have the accent."

A girl in her primary school had spent the summer in France once and had since then corresponded with a boy she had met there. He had visited them two years ago, and his English had been the worst she had ever heard.

Apparently people thought the French accent sexy, but she couldn't fathom why when the only thing she wanted to do every time he opened his mouth was to tell him to stop talking, and _'please, stop butchering our language'_.

Damon didn't sound like that. Actually, he had no accent at all.

"As I said – not French," he answered. "And anyway, one doesn't need to be French to visit Paris. I lived there too, for a few years."

"How was it?" She asks almost immediately. She can't help it. She always dreamed of leaving Mystic Falls, and Paris was one of those places Bonnie, Caroline and she had sworn to visit one day.

"It was…" He hesitates for a moment, as if looking for the best word, tasting each one until he finds the right one. "Nice. Really nice."

"I see…" She doesn't, and his smirk as he takes a sip of his wine tells her that he knows it too.

She clears her throat, suddenly feeling awkward. "Is there any way I could have some of that wine?"

"I thought you didn't eat."

"That's not eating, that's drinking. And I do that. Drink, I mean."

"I know. I remember that you rather seemed to enjoy your tequila…"

"Well, I wouldn't have needed that much if you hadn't tried to kill me for no reason!" She retorts, now angry as she tries to disguise her blush. "Why are we here anyway?"

"I thought you'd like to taste their salad."

"That can't be it," she decides. He has to have some other motives. "And anyway, I don't want your damn salad! This isn't real, there's no point in eating."

"And there's a point in drinking?"

"Well, it makes me feel better."

"Then you should eat too. Look at that salad; it was made especially for you. "

And indeed, there was a rather nice looking salad in front of her. "Why do you even want me to eat so much?" She asks, now truly annoyed and not even questioning where it had come from. It's hardly the strangest thing she's seen by now.

"Can't it be that I'm concerned about you?" He smirks, and then sighs at Elena's unamused glare. "Alright, alright, no need to look at me like that."

He leans on his forearms and his blue eyes bores into hers. For a moment, it's all she can see or think about. It's all really confusing. Weren't they talking just a few seconds ago?

"Eat the salad."

Right. The salad. She should eat it, shouldn't she? Only, she didn't want to. That had been the reason behind the discussion, right?

It did look good though, for a salad. Almost enough to make her want to eat it. But as she had said already, she really isn't hungry.

She returns the stare, and answers. "No."

The face Damon makes is comical. He looks like a deer caught in headlights. His bemusement is evident, even if she doesn't know where it comes from. She's been refusing to eat since she got there, why did he think he would change her mind so easily?

It's not like looking her in the eyes is going to change anything.

She frowns, suddenly suspicious. "What was that?"

"Nothing." He pinches his lips. "Just something I wanted to see. You don't have to eat the salad. Forget about it."

Elena blinks. "Alright. Any reason for the change of mind?"

"None I feel like sharing."

"Anything you feel like sharing then?"

"You're real."

"I knew that, but thank you for confirming it," Elena answers cautiously, feeling slightly out of her depth.

Why had he even been wondering about that?

"And I'm real too. So-"

"If this is your version of a come on, it's not working," she interrupts, because she's not sure she likes where this is going.

"It's not – trust me, if I was coming onto you? You'd know."

For all answer, Elena arches an eyebrow and gestures at him to go on. She's pretty sure she doesn't want to know what he has to say. But need to?

Yes, she feels she needs to know.

"We're both real. That's it. You're not Stefan and I'm not that handsome fellow you might have dreamed up, and somehow, you end up in my mind when I sleep."

"You're not real – you can't be. People don't just wander into other people's head. Life doesn't work this way!"

"I assure you I am real – as real as you are."

"That's what you would say if you weren't," she scoffs. "Prove it."

His smirk is positively devilish and something dark dances in his eyes as he answers her. "Are you sure you're ready for it? Not going to disappear on me this time?"

With courage she doesn't quite feel, she nods.

"Alright then. Don't say I didn't warn you."

He gets up smoothly and extends a hand toward her. She takes it, and she's falling.

His hand is cold in hers but it anchors her as the restaurant around them bleeds colors like a drawing left under the rain and slowly becomes a bland hospital room.

It feels strangely familiar, like she knows this place, like she's been there before. She frowns and turns toward Damon to ask him where they are.

That's when she sees it – it's her.

She's lying there, on a white bed in a white room like they're in a bad remake of Sleeping Beauty.

What little of her body she can see under what must be dozens of bandages looks much too frail and pale as death.

She wants to take a step forward but she's rooted into place. A machine hums softly as it breathes air into that girl – _her _– lungs, and just like that she's laughing.

It's just too much. This can't be true, this can't be happening to her. She's fine, she's just sleeping in her bed, at home and when she closes her eyes she'll wake up and everything will be alright.

She closes her eyes but when she opens them, nothing has changed. She's still there, and she still smells that terrible smell she's hated since she first went to the hospital – Jeremy had broken his ankle while playing football. Their mother had been mad with worry…

"My parents. Where - where are they?"

"How would I know?" Damon scoffs, but something in his tone tells her that he knows more than he lets on.

"Tell me! You have to, I have to know!" And she yells at him, because of she doesn't surely she will fall apart, because that little spark of anger she feels right now is the only thing keeping that bone-deep grief away.

It takes a split second, less than the time she needs to blink, for him to get right into her personal space in a way reminiscent to the time he tried to strangle her in that club.

She doesn't realize she's raised her hands until she feels him grab her wrists in a too tight hold.

"I don't have to do anything for you. You're the one who asked to come here; you don't get to behave like a bitch."

She relents. "_Please._ They were - they were there, I know it. I have to, I have to know. I can't-" She can't breathe. Her body's lying there, on a bed hooked to so many machines it's a wonder she's even still alive, and if she's in the state then what about her parents, who were with her in the car? "_Please_," she repeats.

"They're dead."

It's funny, how three words can break you and destroy your world.

It felt like the world was crumbling beneath her– just three simple words and suddenly the foundations upon which she had built her life were gone, burnt to the ground.

Now would be a great time for that grey fog thing to appear, a part of her thinks absentmindedly, but it doesn't come. No matter how hard she claws at the part of her mind where the peace usually comes from, nothing happens.

She stays in the too white room, Damon unmoving by her side and machines humming around them until she remembers how it feels to breathe.

"How did you even find out?" Her voice is unsteady, but she can do this. She will do this – she has to. She'll get her answers, and then she'll find a way to wake up and get out of this hospital bed.

"You told me your name – it wasn't hard to go from there."

"So what, you just researched my name on the off chance you would find that I was a real someone, somewhere? And then you came here? You expect me to believe this?"

"Actually, yes, I do. Because that's what I did. I told you, you look exactly like Katherine – and I had my reasons to visit Mystic Falls anyway, you were just an interesting mystery."

Something is wrong – his voice is too soft. Damon is looking at the body on the bed and not at her, even if she knows he's talking to her.

"Wait, what do you mean, 'were'?"

"I told you, I have plans here. I can't afford distractions. I've waited too long for you to ruin this. It's not against you, really."

"Why don't you just stop coming here then?"

He laughs, but it sounds dark – it's chilling, and it takes her a moment to remember where she heard that laugh. In horror movies, right before the cute and stupid blonde girl gets murdered in the most gruesome way the scenarists could dream up.

"You don't get it, do you?"

"Get what?"

"That I didn't have a choice. I still don't! You're the one who somehow gets inside my head – you're just human! I thought that maybe, maybe you were something special or particular, but you're just a stupidly normal _human_ girl! You've got nothing that could let you get into my mind, and I need to understand, because it needs to stop!"

Elena takes a step toward him. Intellectually, she knows she should get as far away as she can, but she can't help it.

He sounds distraught, and she can help.

'That bleeding heart of yours will get you in trouble, young girl' her grandmother had told her once when she had brought home a puppy that got left behind one summer.

God, she hoped it wasn't going to get her killed in her own mind.

She licks her lips then speaks. "Fine, fine. Just tell me what I might do to help."

"Help…? Are you-" He whirls around. "Jesus, you're actually serious about that? You really think you can do anything to help in this situation? You're just a human, what would you be able to do that I'm not?"

"Yeah I'm serious, and of course I'm human! What else would I be? And what's up with the 'human' derogatory comments anyway? You're human too, stop acting like you aren't one – it's really not helping your 'I'm real' case!"

"Still not convinced then? You think I would have made this up? Really?"

"Well I don't see why you brought me here if you just wanted to get rid of me or something afterward. You just- argh, there are no words! You're infuriating, and mad, and this can't be real! I can't be there, in that bed and here at the same time, it makes no sense!"

"And we're back to this… You know, it's not because you can't stand the truth that it'll stop being true. You can't handle this? Fine. It's your problem, but you wanna know something? That's not what I'd call being helpful, and weren't you eager to be just that just a moment ago?"

"I-you're right. I'm sorry. It's just-" She gestures helplessly at the bare room around them. "I just wish I could understand what's happening right now. How are you here? How am _I_ here? And why is this happening now?"

"You were in a car accident and spent too much time underwater. Those machines are keeping you alive until they decide to take you off them, or until you wake up. Your parents died. That's all I know. As for your other questions… I have no idea. I know we can get into other people's heads, but I never heard of it happening the other way around. I didn't even know it was possible."

"Who's 'we'? Why don't you ask them? And don't think I forgot that you didn't answer my question, because I noticed, and I'm not letting it go."

"Which question? You ask so many, it's hard to keep track," Damon answered lightly, but the tilt of his mouth told her that he knew exactly to which question she was referring to, and warned her not to enquire any further.

For now, she will let it go. After all, he finally seemed to have snapped out of his weird mood – really, she would have no problems believing he was some kind of serial killer or madman. He certainly has the right temper.

"How can I help?"

"Well, you could try to stop getting into my head."

"Trust me, I would if I knew how to."

"Then figure it out."

_Figure it out._ Like it's that easy, like she just needs to flip on the right switch for everything to suddenly become clear, when mere days ago she wasn't even aware that it was possible to wander in other people's dreams.

She doesn't have the time to retort the way she wants to though.

The grey takes her by surprise this time – but it didn't come when she wanted it to, it only makes sense that it know finds her when she wishes it would forget her existence.

One moment she's staring at her comatose body and talking with a blue-eyed man who tells her that she's got to find a way to end the only thing keeping her sane – and wasn't that grand? The man who thought he wasn't human and wanted to kill her at least half the time was the only thing that helped her keep it together – and the next she's laughing herself to tears on her bathroom floor.

Because yeah, apparently that's her life now – to be in a coma and wander away from her own mind.

**.x.**

She's been standing in the cemetery for such a long time that it feels like her limbs have frozen when he suddenly appears by her side.

Somehow, it doesn't surprise her.

"A cemetery, really? Couldn't you find anywhere even more depressing?"

She doesn't answer, her eyes fixed on the tombstone in front of her. On it are engraved the names of her parents – it's the place she's been looking for every time she came her, without knowing what she was looking for.

It looks ordinary. Simple. _Bland_. None of the words written are enough to describe who her parents were, and while she knows that those probably aren't the words she would see were she able to visit their grave, she also knows that the ones she would really find wouldn't be any closer to describing Miranda and Grayson Gilbert.

"I come here often," she whispers, and her own voice surprises her. "It's peaceful."

"Of course it is, no one's here but you," Damon scoffs, but he shuts up after that, so Elena thinks he must have understood what she felt at least a bit.

She smiles, and take a deep breath as she turns toward Damon.

"Let's leave, and then you'll tell me what you are."

She doesn't leave any room for an argument, and Damon must realize this because just shrugs.

"Alright."

"_Alright?_"

"You heard me. You've wandered in my head enough times already it's a wonder you don't already know anyway."

It's Elena turn to shrug at that, because it's kind of true. She does seem to find herself in his mind a lot, and even if she doesn't know why, he has no way to know when she'll turn up, and so no way to really keep whatever his secret is hidden.

They haven't left the graveyard yet, and she's still wondering how to ask Damon exactly what he is when she feels him wrap his arms around her.

She blinks in surprise, but before she even has the time to scream or even actually react, he lets her go and steps out of her reach, his awful(ly attractive) smirk in place, as if knowing staying too close wouldn't be good for his continued existence.

"What the hell!" They're standing in front of her house. Her house, as in the one far away from the cemetery they were in a moment ago, and no she didn't see any grey or felt anything that could explain the move.

Except that she has, because Damon held her and she briefly felt a lurching when he did, but that's all.

"Told you – not human."

"Ah ah, very funny. Because that explains so much. And should I remind you that you apparently brought me to Paris last time? So comparatively, this definitely isn't impressive at all."

"Oh, so you want to be impressed? Well, then you'd better be prepared!"

She smiles in amusement and that's when he moves.

His lips are warm on hers, and her eyes widen suddenly. She forgets everything, even how to breathe, for the next few seconds, before her brain reboots and sends her alert messages – what is she even doing? She firmly tells it to shut up, please, and let her enjoy this, and she leans a bit more into the kiss.

Time stops for a moment around them, and when it starts back up Damon steps back with veins dark as the night under his eyes and sharp fangs in his mouth.

He gets as far as "I'm a vampire by the way" before her world fades to grey, her mind urging it to go faster – she doesn't understand, she can't understand what just happened – as her heart begs to stay.

She's never felt so torn, but she's useless as ever against this force taking her away, and no matter how hard and long she rages against it, it refuses to release her.

**.x.**

It takes her a long time to find him again. By then, she's almost forgot who she is again – her memories frays under her fingers like a spider's web, and every time they do she forgets answers to questions she can't remember asking.

She knows her name, his, and that they're real.

He kissed her and she wanted to stay but couldn't, and he's a vampire but he didn't kill her even if he could have.

It's enough for her.

"Would you allow me this dance?"

"Of course."

They twirl around in silence for a while before she speaks. "So you're a vampire?"

"That's what I said."

"What's it like? I mean, not what is it like to be a vampire, but what is it like to die? Because I don't think I'll ever wake up you know."

He looks almost startled for a moment, and then resolve brighten his eyes until they look almost grey. She shivers, because it's not a color she likes these days, and yet…

And yet, she finds she could stare at it for hours. How did this happen?

"And if I told you that I knew a way for you to wake up, what would you do?"

"Do you?"

"I might. But what would you do for it?"

"Anything," she breathes as she leans against him, letting him lead her through a waltz she doesn't know the steps of. She's almost surprised at how true it is too – there is very little she wouldn't give to leave her decaying memories.

"Perfect."

This time, he kisses her hard but she answers just as strongly, and as they stand unmoving but for their lips in the middle of the room, she thinks that it's what it would feel like to make a deal with the devil.

He grabs a passing champagne glass and empties it on the ground and ribs his wrist open with his teeth before letting his blood drip into the elegant glass.

It shines red like rubies and is just as precious to her – it's her life.

"How long are you going to stay with me?" He asks, his arm already healed.

"Forever," she answers, and he hands her the glass.

"A toast then. To eternal life!"

"To eternal life!"

The blood doesn't even taste coppery like she expected it to, and it's not until she feels a sharp pain in her neck that she realizes that she forgot to ask him what drink he was supposed to toast with.

This time, her world turns black instead of grey as she breathes her last.

**.x.**

This isn't a fairytale. It's her life. There is no Prince Charming to kiss her awake, no evil witch keeping her under a spell and no well-meaning friends doing everything to help her.

There is only her and the vampire holding her heart in his hands. If she were writing the story, she might make a happy ending out of this, but this isn't one of her stories.

She doesn't even know if she wants a happy ending anymore. It sounds so _bland_, so normal and so far away from the feelings raging inside of her chest that the idea of settling down for something, for anything seems ridiculous.

Fairytales end in victory, with love and impossibilities.

Her story starts all over again with blood on her lips, a pair of eyes bluer than the sky and the snap of her neck.

She'll open her eyes to a very different world, and who cares if it's even real?

Damon's there, and she's alive – sort of. It's all that matters.


End file.
